Brownie
by Psychoswordlady
Summary: [FE3][SamutoNavahl, implied NavahlMarth, yaoi, angstiness, Oneshot] There's nothing that can replace you. Nothing in the world. So come back, my sweet Brownie. Come home to your Sammy.


Come Back Sweet Brownie

Pairing: Samuto/Navahl onesided   
Rating: R for flashbacks to love scenes and language   
POV: Samuto

NOTES: Fire Emblem 3 (Book 2) fic. Again, Samuto and Navahl are the kind of characters who get stuck with maybe three lines tops. A little background if you don't know: Navahl is a deadly mercenary swordsman who's taken more than his share of lives. He joins your group when Sheeda gets all bitchy and says "rawr ur gonna attack me before u attack my friends. and u don't fight women, right? lolyeah. join us or I bust ur skull with a Silver Lance". Samuto is an aspiring mercenary who, wishing to get a better paying job, poses as his mentor Navahl to work for Highman, Navahl's former employer. Little does he know his disguise didn't make up for his mediocre sword skills (and yes, Navahl agrees he is very much mediocre). Again, it's hard to determine if either of them are out of character, because all you really find out about Navahl is his general speech pattern (more obvious in the Japanese than in any translation) and the fact that he refuses to fight women and by association children. And all we know about Samuto is that he's a poser who just wishes he was as kickass as Navahl. XD

And this got REALLY angsty and language-y. Just to warn you. I ended up taking out the F-bombs and bleeping everything else, but it's still like Samuto's freakin Myspace.

And yes, I made up the definition of mediocre in this story so I'm not stealing it from a real dictionary. He's quoting the Psychoswordlady dictionary. The thing Navahl wears is called a cheongsam, by the way, but some uneducated people know it as a "Chinese dress". (Like Leon from Petshop of Horrors, but he calls it a "Grandma dress".) The game they play ("shougi") is a Japanese game roughly equivalent to chess. Navahl's very Asian in FE3 and so I drew a lot of inspiration for his character from it.

And no, I don't own Fire Emblem or I'd have put in far more pairs to FE3, period. Not just yaoi. Minerva/Katua FOR. THE. WIN. (pumps fist)

(story:begin)

I am a broken man, Navahl.

I wish I never met you. I hate you.

I always wanted to be just like you. I trusted you.

Maybe I even loved you.

But I wasn't good enough. I'll never be. I tried until I couldn't try anymore, and still I failed. I failed in your eyes.

No, I didn't fail. I was never good enough for you. Your expectations were too low to fail. You never thought I would be good enough in the first place. I met your expectations perfectly.

"Mediocre, at best."

"Mediocre. Adjective: Of middling quality, average; ordinary." That's what the dictionary says.

That was the biggest compliment you ever gave my sword skills. I practiced day and night with hopes of reaching your level. But I was only "mediocre" to you. I was only average, not exceptional. Ordinary, not extraordinary.

You never loved me, Navahl.

Seven damn years we were together. I was sixteen--too stupid to know that you were a filthy, cheating fink and never to get involved with you! You never paid any attention to me outside the bed. Was that all I was? Just something for you to screw? Just your love slave you could toss out any time?!

That's why I hate you! I hate your guts! You were just a worthless, nasty piece of shit and I'm glad you're not in my ass anymore! I mean it, Navahl! Why don't you just die already?!

If I weren't so worthless myself, I'd kill you! I would! I'd steal those precious red blades of yours and cut your freaking head off, you hear me?! I'd laugh at you writhing in pain and finally I'd be better than you! You'd be the failure, you son of a bitch!

If it weren't for you I wouldn't be so damn screwed up! It's your fault! The way you tempted me... The way you looked at me when you told me to improve on something... Those nights we would sit and talk for hours playing shougi... The scent of warm spices in your chestnut hair... the way you'd slide the collar of your cheongsam down over your hard-muscled shoulder and shut your eyes halfway and just look at me... the way you'd growl at me to come closer and then pull me into a kiss... the way the candlelight made the flame that danced in your emerald eyes burn ever higher... the soft warmth of your tan skin against mine... the way you'd touch me when we made love... the way you'd run the soap up my thigh in the bath... the times your voice got all heavy and low, and it rumbled through your throat and ran like hellfire's heels to meet my ear.

Dammit! Damn it all! I miss you already!

Why the hell did you have to walk out on me in the first place? Why the hell did you keep me around for seven years, make me think we were an item, inseparable, and then just dump me?! Why the hell didn't you just stab me through the heart? It would be far less painful than seeing you with him! It would hurt so much less than knowing I could never have you again!

The day after you left was the first time I cried in five damn years. Men like me don't cry. But when your heart's been freaking ripped out of your ribcage, you don't have much of a say in the matter. I just lay there against the rocks beneath the spring. The same spring beneath which we first made love. And I just let the water slide down over my face, let it stick my hair to itself in one giant brown lock that made its way along my neck and over my chest, let its cold tongue caress my body all over and just pretend it was your warm and loving hands. That was all I could do--pretend. There's no warmth or love in running water. No matter how much you wish it was alive, it's not. No matter how easily you sculpt it into a human form, it's never the same as the touch of a lover. And no matter how vividly your imagination shapes it into chiseled muscles, flowing nutmeg hair, hard, defined cheekbones, and determined jade-colored eyes, it'll never be you. It'll never be Navahl.

It won't bring you back, Brownie.

Do you remember when I called you that? That night on the plains, the first time you'd ever let me win a practice match. My prize was you. And as we basked in the afterglow and held each other close, I stroked your hair and looked into your eyes and said "I love you, Brownie."

And I'll never forget that smile you gave me before we kissed one last time. It showed in your eyes this time, not just on your lips. I'll always remember it.

That's why I can't stay mad at you. Because I remember that smile.

And I'd rather die than see you give that smile to him. I don't care if he's the Prince of Aritia. I'm the only one you can give that smile to.

I miss you, Brownie.

I might not be him. I'm not be the smartest man in the world. I'm not the strongest man in the world. I'm certainly not the best-looking, at least not beside that dandy little shit of a prince. I'm just like you said--mediocre. But I've got one thing no other man has. I've got love. The prince couldn't care less about a future with you. The prince doesn't daydream about building a home with you. Hell, the prince only wants you at night. But I'm not like him. I want you all the time.

Even now.

Even though I said I wanted you to die. I'm sorry. I don't mean it. If you were to die, I don't know what I'd do. I can't bear the thought of never seeing that smile one last time. If you died, Brownie, I'd want to join you. Screw the "'til death do us part" stuff. I don't want even death to separate us.

I gave you everything, Brownie. My promises, my virginity, my heart. Is everything I have still not good enough for you? The least you could do would be to come back, if only for a little while, and give me that smile. Even if it's the last time I'll ever see it. I'll even let you sleep with me if that's really all I was. I don't care anymore--I'm desperate.

I just want you back, Brownie. I'd do anything. Just come home to me. We don't have a home yet, you say. I can change that. You come back to me, Brownie, and we'll make a home. A home within my arms. Anywhere you want, anytime you want. I just want you back.

I said it that night and I'll say it again. I love you, Brownie. I'll say it as many times as you want. Just come back to me. Tell me those five words I've missed so sorely. Touch my cheek the way you did that night, give me that smile that makes me melt, and say "I love you too, Sammy." You tell me you love me back, Brownie, and I'll say I love you until I run out of breath.

So please, Navahl, my love, my sweet Brownie, come home to me. I'm begging you. I've got nothing more to lose--no, I've given it all to you. When you return, I'll welcome you with my arms wide open. I'll hold you close and stroke your hair just like that night. I'll kiss you on the nose, touch your lips, hold your hand, anything you want. I just need you back, my one and only Brownie. So just come home to your one and only Sammy.

With all the love I've got left,  
Samuto


End file.
